Democratic Sentinel, Volume 7, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 October 1883 — A VERY TOOTHSOME DISH. [ARTICLE]

A VERY TOOTHSOME DISH.

How Horo than a Thousand Ins* • D*T Take Their Last Leap in Boston. (Prom the Boston Journal.] “What can you expect of those fellows who eat frogs ?” was the uncomplimentary exclamation of a noted writer when he heard of the failure of a certain French dictionary, but he little realized that the intended slur which he cast upon the people of France would before long be applicable to the citizens of America. Boston people alone call for more than two hundred dozen of these delicious little tit-bits every day, while New York and the cities to the west call for even larger supplies. In the towns of Maine, notably Belfast and Wairen, and on Cape Cod, in Barnstable, Centerville and Yarmouth, men are devoting their entire time to catching the “Dutch nightingales” for the Boston market. Early in the morning the fisherman, or perhaps more properly speaking, the reptileman, starts for the green marshes with his long pole and net. The frogs have just emerged from their dark, slimy beds, and are sitting contentedly perched in some sunny spot ready to begin the overture of their morning serenade. Suddenly whish comes the net into their midst, and the next moment their director, a big pound-and-a-half fellow, is, to the great astonishment of his frogsliip, whirled through the air and landed a captive at the feet of his arch enemy. Down plump the other singers, tenor, bass, and baritone, struggling and croaking in startled discord, into their safe retreats, only to return a few minutes later and yield another victim to the unrelenting net. A good frog fisherman will catch fourteen or fifteen dozen a day, but an inexperienced amateur will find his apparently easy sport a difficult job when he attempts to rival the professional. Sometimes shooting is resorted to instead of netting, and, again, the little red-flannel bait om the end of a hook is used to entice the frog from his retreat. The frogs are then sent, some alive and seme dressed ready for the table, to the Boston markets. In Faneuil Hall market, at the fish stands, heaps of little shining pearl-white frogs’ legs are offered to the public at from 40 to 60 cents a dozen. The season lasts from June till October, July, however, being the busiest time. As to the taste of this luxury, those who have never partaken of the frog meat cannot realize its delicious flavor and tenderness. The taste is not a fishy one, but resembles most that of young spring chicken. When served as a fried or broiled dish it is especially delectable, and at one hotel eight dozen a day are called for in this form during the July season, while even now the average is from two to three dozen. Among the curious live specimens brought to the markets, one, a monster fellow, weighing nearly two pounds, would sit in his tank and cry exactly like a baby. The customers would look around in astonishment, wondering where the weeping child was hidden. Another twilight minstrel, kept in a private aquarium, reminded one of the famous frog “who would a-wooing go.” This fellow conceived a violent attachment for a young lady visitor. Every time the lady approached the glass abode of the singer he would strike up his most tuneless lay and dart to the glass side, following her all around as she circled about the aquarium. One day, to her great astonishment, he made a prodigious leap and jumped square upon her shoulder, where he sat in triumph. The exertion was too much for him, however, and a few days afterward he died, lamented by all who knew him.